


happiness does not wait

by wouldratherbe



Category: Glee
Genre: Performing Arts, musicians vs musical theatre majors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldratherbe/pseuds/wouldratherbe
Summary: Why Rachel Berry, a known musical theatre major who only ever spent her time bothering the pianists, needed cello lessons, Quinn didn’t know. But she wasn’t really one to ask questions, and she wasn’t going to ask questions. All Quinn knew was that Rachel Berry would be in Practice Room Three.or: rachel tells a bit of a lie, and now quinn's responsible for her success.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 18
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from song of the same name, by ólafur arnalds.

She was late, Quinn knew. The warning bell rang just as she reached the locker room, stumbling to take off her leotard. Why she thought being a dance minor was a good idea, she didn’t know.

There weren’t even technically minors at her school, just kids who used all of their extra hours on a platform apart from their major. Like Quinn. Stupid, stupid Quinn. And Coach Sylvester liked to punish her for it.

_“You need to make the switch, Kiddo. Cello’s only gonna last you as long as those fingers work, and, with how hard you push yourself, that’s not gonna be long.”_ That was the end of her speech today, holding Quinn back from her free period. Usually, she enjoyed the extra talking with her instructor, aside from all the underhandedness, but she had to go today. She had a lesson today, with that musical theatre major.

Rachel Berry had contacted her through her mother, Quinn’s english teacher, and who was she to say no to the woman who held her fragile, unweighted 4.0 gpa in her claws? She couldn’t say no even if she wanted to, and Ms. Corcoran knew it. The woman had been on Quinn’s ass constantly, reminding Quinn that the D in her class _wasn’t like her_ , and _Quinn could do better_ , and _was everything okay at home_? She’d even gone so far as to contact her parents and arrange a conference, which ended in Quinn’s father making a not-so-thinly-veiled threat to pull Quinn out of William McKinley if she didn’t get her grade up.

Her mother, for her part, had actually tried to help Quinn, going over her homework with her (which Quinn hated) and contacting her teacher regularly to discuss extra credit opportunities. And this was one of them. Why _Rachel Berry_ , a known musical theatre major who only ever spent her time bothering the pianists, needed _cello lessons_ , Quinn didn’t know. But she wasn’t really one to ask questions, and she wasn’t going to ask questions. All Quinn knew was that Rachel Berry would be in Practice Room Three, off the orchestral wing, right after second period.

Quinn, however, was on the other side of the school, tugging her tights through her leotard, because she was an idiot and forgot that the leo needed to come off _first_. She muttered a curse as her foot came free from the pink cloth, and pulled her shorts up, shoving her feet back into a pair of sandals before booking it out of the locker room.

She power-walked to the orchestra wing, stopping to throw her dance bag into the empty orchestra room and grab her cello case, and then broke out in a run once she saw the practice room. A quick glance at her phone showed that she was four minutes late. Okay. She could do this.

“You’re late.”

Quinn stepped back as the door swung open in her face, and scowled at the girl inside, before schooling her features. Rachel Berry _not_ the person to be mad at. “Sorry. Coach Sylvester was talking to me, and I lost track of time. I had to change.”

“It’s okay. I’m Rachel Berry.” The brunette stuck her hand out, and Quinn stared at it, inspected it, before shaking it back. No calluses. Of course not.

“Quinn. Is that your cello?”

Rachel looked to the cloth case beside her chair, and nodded. “Yes. Well, it’s the school’s. I’m borrowing it. I’m in a one-act at the end of the semester, and my character plays the cello, so… I have to learn. Here’s the music I have to be able to play.”

She pulled a folder out of her backpack and handed it to Quinn, smiling hopefully. “Not too hard, right?”

The prelude to Bach’s first cello suite mocked Quinn as she pulled the first page out of the folder. Quinn stared at the sheet music, and then at Rachel, and then the sheet music again. “Have you played cello before?”

“No. I’ve never played an instrument besides my voice-” Quinn resisted rolling her eyes. “And the violin for about four months in fifth grade. But I’m smart and musically gifted, as everyone says, so… Shouldn’t be that hard.”

The girls stared at each other, and Rachel’s smile started to fall as Quinn’s eyes got bigger and bigger. “Do they know that you haven’t played cello before?”

The brunette turned around at that, her hands wringing behind her back, and Quinn thought that, for an actress, Rachel was a terrible liar. “I may have… said that I played a little. But I told them I’d be taking lessons to help! And I am. So your job is to teach me. It’s just a bunch of sixteenth notes.”

Quinn buried her face in her hands, groaning. “Rachel, can you read bass clef?”

The silence answered her more truthfully than Rachel would’ve.

“Can you tell me what the strings of the cello are?”

“Aluminum?”

“Oh, my God.”

“Quinn, listen. You have, like, four months to teach me this piece, and the other one, and that’s that. So we can start, or I can go find my mom and tell her that I need a new teacher. Which do you choose?”

Quinn had a horrible, sinking feeling that Rachel knew about her predicament. She didn’t know why she wouldn’t, but surely Mrs. Corcoran wouldn’t stoop so low. But Rachel’s eyes, while fierce and persistent, showed no sign of malicious intent. So Quinn just huffed, and handed the folder back to Rachel, rubbing a hand over her face before speaking.

“It’ll be hard.”

“I know.”

“We’re gonna have to work as much as we can. Together and apart.”

“I know, Quinn.”

“That means practicing every night at home on your own, and every free period you have, and on the weekends, and-”

“Quinn. We both go to this school. We both know what it takes.”

Quinn met her eyes, and found nothing but determination, and maybe a little bit of fear. A good combination. “Okay. Are you ready?”

“I was _born_ ready.”

Rachel, in fact, was _not_ born ready. She forgot to lengthen her end-pin, the first thing Quinn told her to do. She tightened her bow way too much, and then when the blonde went to loosen it, dropped her rosin on the edge of her stand’s legs and shattered it. Quinn had never been so frustrated. But she did this to herself, and she needed a B, minimum. She had to power through.

“Rachel, no, you have to hold it like a bunny.”

The brunette pouted, and it almost made Quinn smile, before Rachel fisted her bow in her hand again. “But that hurts!”

Quinn tugged at her hair, before she reached out and grabbed Rachel’s right hand, ignoring the red marks on her thumb and positioning her fingers correctly. “It won’t hurt if you do it enough! Oh, my- dude, come on! Just hold it like a bunny and then set it on the string.”

Rachel did as told, and a light blush settled on her cheeks, because, as she has been for the last twenty minutes, Quinn was right. “Don’t say I told you so.”

“The fact that you knew I would is all I need.”

Quinn tried to ignore the funniness in her stomach when Rachel smiled at her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible tw warning: quinn accidentally cuts her finger, and there's mentions of blood.

“Okay, not quite. Here, let me just…”

Quinn pressed herself against Rachel once more, giving the girl an irritated look when she froze, thus letting her fingers fall away from the fingerboard. “Stop doing that! Everytime I try to fix you, you move.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, inhaling deeply and looking down at the floor. “Well, you keep touching me, and you’re practically pushing me off my chair! I’m just trying to keep hold of my cello.”

“And what about it? How else do I fix you?”

“I don’t need to be _fixed_ , Quinn. Will you _get off?_ It’s hot in here.”

Quinn backed up a bit, suddenly aware that she _did_ , in fact, have an arm slung over Rachel’s shoulder, effectively pulling the tiny brunette into her chest. “Your fingers sure do. Now do what you were doing before.”

Rachel straightened out, plucking a simple G major scale, and Quinn had to hold herself back from grabbing Rachel’s hands as her knuckles collapsed. “Come on, Rachel. A tunnel, remember?” she droned as nicely as she possibly could.

Rachel’s fingers popped up, and her thumb came to rest on the back of her cello, and Quinn caught the barest of smiles as the girl’s posture relaxed. She understood, _finally_. And just in time, as the clock read 2:45.

“One more time, and then it’s time to go.”

Rachel did it with only mild grumbling, and just a few mistakes, so Quinn let her go after she promised to practice at least three hours before Monday.

Honestly, Quinn was surprised that Rachel was still sticking with it. It was only their third lesson, but Quinn had proved herself to be as strict as her own coaches and teachers, letting Rachel have only the tiniest of breaks, and only because her fingers showed signs of blistering, and Quinn knew that the girl would never continue with a rip.

Rachel, for her part, had proved as strong as Quinn herself. According to her mother, she’d practiced for three hours after her first lesson. Quinn herself had seen the girl studying the bass clef at lunch, making her boyfriend quiz her with homemade flashcards. They’d gotten through the better part of the beginner book the day before, but Rachel was struggling with technique. She didn’t have the instinct or the brain that Quinn had, and she wasn’t connecting the notes to the positions on her fingerboard. But… she could get there.

Quinn had gotten there. With help from her private teacher, and her parents forcing her to practice every day for two years, and her (eventual) love of the cello, Quinn had become a prodigy. A virtuoso, if you will. So, yeah, Rachel could get there, if Quinn pushed her, and if she pushed herself.

_**sam is stoopid:** you’ve been practicing the same like 30 sec phrase over and over again i’m begging you to shut up_

_**Me:** what??? are you doing in my house?????? go home i’m begging you??????????_

_**sam is stoopid:** oh i would! but! ur parents love me more than u so i basically live here :/// now will u pls shut up! I’m trying to draw our father_

_**Me:** my father! and no i will not but i fux w u for trying ❤️_

Quinn rolled her eyes, chucking her phone into the ever-growing pile of laundry. She loved Sam, but if he told her to be quiet one more time, she’d probably kill him. Why her best friends were a visual artist and a drummer, she’d never know. But that didn’t matter now, because she was just trying to practice. She had her double lesson tomorrow, and if she didn’t finish writing in her bowings and fingerings for this concerto, Stefan would hurt her.

She erased the four she’d penciled in, and wrote a three, sticking the pencil behind her ear before trying again. It wasn’t ten seconds before she felt her finger press a little bit harder than it should’ve been able to, accompanied by a slippery… 

“Dammit.”

Her fingers were red. And so were her strings, and her fingerboard. Quinn peered at her left hand, looking for the cut that she knew was there somewhere. All of her fingers were aching, so searching for a specific point of pain didn’t do her any good…

“Aha.” She cursed under her breath as she squeezed her ring finger, and a new bead of blood was drawn, coloring her finger further. Quinn had already glued it right before Rachel’s rehearsal, but she’d have to superglue it again. And pray her mother didn’t notice, because she already thought Quinn was working herself too hard… She’d never be able to pick up a cello again, if this got out, English grade be damned. And that just wasn’t acceptable to Quinn.

She was going through her cello cosmetic bag on her bed, searching for superglue and band-aids when she heard her doorknob twist open, and saw a familiar flash of blonde hair. “Quinnie! It’s almost supper time. Put your cello away now, please.”

Quinn’s eyes widened at the sight of her mother, and she hid her hand from view, smiling politely. “Thank you, Mom. I’m packing up now.”

“Okay,” the woman nodded, stepping out before poking her head back in. “And I got an email from your English teacher today. How’s it going with Rachel?”

They shared a meaningful look, one that the younger Fabray didn’t particularly care for, and Quinn stuck her hand farther from view, hoping her mother’s line of vision didn’t stray. “Fine, I guess. I’ll know more in a couple weeks.”

“You’re not working her too hard, are you?”

Quinn rolled her eyes, her clean hand picking at the duvet on her bed. “I’m working her as hard as Dad worked me. And Rachel’s fine with it. She understands. She wants it more than I do, anyway.”

“Okay, just making sure. Now clean up your hand and get downstairs, because Sam’s waiting on you, and you know how he gets when he’s hungry. No more cello for the rest of the night.”

Quinn groaned, falling back onto her bed. Her mother always knew. There was no sense in hiding it.

A quick look in the mirror confirmed that she’d just told on herself. There was a telling red smudge on her cheekbone, and she took care of her hand before carefully washing her face, and staring at herself in the mirror. She thought she might’ve liked what she saw.

For a brief flicker of a moment, she wondered what Rachel was doing. What were the chances that the brunette was staring into her own mirror? Did she like what she saw? Objectively, Quinn decided, she _had_ to, because Rachel was… Rachel was… What word was she looking for? Why the hell was she even thinking about it?

“Lucy Quinn! It’s time for supper!”

The blonde shook her head to erase her thoughts, frowning. 

“I have to clean my cello,” she shouted, making her way back to her bedroom with a damp washcloth. This hadn’t happened in at least a few months. Not this bad, anyway. She was overworking herself again.

In her defense, Dvorák was a bitch. This concerto was kicking her ass. It took her a year and a half to learn, and now she was fine tuning it, and if that meant slicing open her fingers, then so be it.

“Quinn, I’m not calling you again.”

“Coming! I’m coming. One more sec!”

Quinn bent over to pick up her phone, and she rolled her eyes as she swiped away all of Sam’s hangry texts, before coming across one from Rachel.

The picture was a bit unfocused, as if Rachel was trying to do five things all at once, and Quinn could tell that that was probably exactly what had happened. She thought she spotted Mrs. Corcoran in the background, with two other men, one of whom was holding a baby.

But in the foreground was Rachel, holding her cello haphazardly (and admittedly, Quinn’s stomach dropped as she realized that the cello was, in fact, being raised just over her head). A second picture came through, this one of a hand, with tiny lines in the tips of her fingers. The last picture that came through was of Quinn, in Practice Room Three, looking a bit crazy and very determined. Quinn didn’t even know how Rachel would’ve taken it.

_**Rachel Berry:** a) I practiced my cello while my family ate dinner because I am That Committed. b) I think I’m getting calluses. I don’t know what this means for every other aspect of my life, but I am excited, I think. c) I just thought that moment needed to be captured._

Quinn’s thumbs did a little dance over her keyboard as she thought of how to reply. Finally, they tapped out a response.

_**Me:** a) my family refuses to let me practice during dinner so I think we should switch families b) be excited. this just means I can work you harder now c) very sneaky_

_**Me:** thank you for sending it to me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i updated this. i'm shocked, even for me.
> 
> please leave kudos and comment!!! thanks for reading xx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter today, but the next one's gonna be pretty long.

“Where are you guys?”

Quinn held her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, struggling to keep hold of her Julie-o score, as well as her lunch, notebook, dance bag, and backpack.

_“We’re by the old climbing tree, along the side of the school. Remember, where we got off after the last elementary tour?”_

The blonde rolled her eyes, mocking Finn’s voice as she spotted Sam waving his arms above his head on the other side of the courtyard. She nodded to him, stopping at an empty bench to organize her life before she sat with them for their lunch hour.

“Hey, Quinn! Wait!” A familiar hand touched her shoulder, and she whirled around, brow raising as she took in the tiny girl in front of her. “Your dance bag. It unclipped from your bag, and… here.” Rachel handed the bag over, and smiled at Quinn, her eyes squinting in the midday light.

“Thanks, Rach… Hey, did you practice that phrase last night?”

A guilty look phased over the brunette’s face, and Quinn glared at her, a disappointed look quickly furrowing her brow. “Rachel-”

“No, I practiced it a bit, but only a few measures. I had vocal lessons last night, and then I had to go to my dad’s, and I forgot my cello, I know, you don’t have to say it. My mom brought it to me, and I was going to practice more, but the neighbors complained. I’m not very good, Quinn.”

The girl blushed, and Quinn’s frown fell away, revealing a lopsided, tentative smile. “You know what this means, right?”

“I’m assuming you’re about to work me harder than you ever have.”

“Exactly.”

Rachel groaned, before laughing, and Quinn joined her, shrugging her backpack back on and grabbing her lunch. “Thanks again, Rachel.”

“No problem!”

“Rachel!”

Quinn looked past the girl, staring directly at Jesse St. James. The boy had a reputation amongst the school. As a slut, and a star. He’d garnered an Academy Award nomination at the age of nine, and then the world discovered he could _sing_ , and it was pretty much over. He’d done summer stints on Broadway, but he always came back to McKinley. And this year, he’d brought Rachel with him.

Quinn wasn’t completely oblivious. She knew that Rachel and Jesse were a thing. Had been for years, due to their mothers’ connection through Broadway. They’d grown up together, and obviously, that had led to a romantic connection. Quinn didn’t care about that. She did, however, care about how Jesse always tried to _claim_ the girl. In hallways, as his partner in classes, at lunch. She just wanted to wipe the smug look off his face.

Rachel rolled her eyes, a smile still playing at her lips. “I better get back to him. I’ll see you later, Quinn.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Quinn didn’t waste another second making her way across the courtyard, sitting next to Sam, who had his camera out, as usual, and was wiping his t-shirt across the lens, frowning. “Took you long enough.”

“I dropped stuff. You know, you guys could’ve helped me out.”

Finn shrugged, laying on the ground in front of the duo. He half choked on a cheeto, and sat up quickly, glaring at Quinn when she thumped him on the back a little harder than necessary. “We could’ve. But then you started talking to the _theatre_ kids. I love you, Quinn, but not enough to interact with that side of the arts. We’re _music_ kids, Quinn.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “It was just Rachel. She’s… pretty cool. And anyway, we’re friends with Sam, and he’s not performing arts at all.”

“Yeah, but I play guitar. I’m at least a little useful.”

Finn hummed in agreement, and Quinn shoved at her side, attempting to push him away from her. He simply stuck his tongue out, his stocky frame unbudging, and she stopped, glaring at him.

Somehow, her gaze turned to Rachel, sitting in Jesse’s lap across the courtyard. They were singing some song with their friend group, laughing as their voices purposely sounded bad, reaching throughout the courtyard. The dancers were glaring at them, and Quinn spotted Brittany among them, her head bobbing as she nibbled on a pretzel. She saw Quinn grinning at her, and waved, before turning to Mike as he lifted her off the ground, making her go through a combination with him.

A school bus holding the middle schoolers that came to McKinley for their own PA classes pulled up, and a good number of preteens bounced off, including ones Quinn recognized from concerts and shows she’d played pit in.

A memorable pair of kids jumped off, and Quinn’s smile grew wider. Mason, her dancer for the joint arts night, and his twin sister made their way to the entrance, taking a detour over to the… theatre kids. Madison wrapped her arms around Jesse, laying her cheek on the top of his head as he and Rachel pulled her into an actual hug.

She was a vocal major, Quinn knew, so it made sense that she’d know Jesse and Rachel, except… No, it didn’t. She was an eighth grader, and Rachel and Jesse were upperclassmen. How would she know them, unless they were in a show together? _Were_ they in a show together?

Mason caught sight of Quinn, and rushed over to her, greeting her with a pat on her head, and she swatted his hand away, laughing. “Hey, Squirt.”

“Hi, _Quinn_ , who I treat like an _adult_ , because I am a mature member of society.”

“Tell me that when you finish growing.”

Mason rolled his eyes, and moved to walk away, before Quinn leaned over and tugged on his jacket, pulling him to a halt. “Wait. Your sister, she knows Rachel? And Jesse?”

Mason looked to where his twin was, joining in on the rambunctiousness of the group, and shrugged. “Yeah, she got cast in one of the one-acts. She’s playing their daughter? Or Jesse’s sister, something like that… You didn’t know? The whole school’s been talking about it.”

Quinn shook her head, and Mason ran a hand through his curls. “I gotta go check in, but I’ll talk to you later. See you, Quinn.”

“Bye, Buddy! Have a good day!” she called, sounding motherly as she shouted across the courtyard. He flipped her off, and she rolled her eyes, watching as he pulled his sister off the ground, before disappearing into the building.

Rachel was watching them too, a hand held to her heart as if she actually considered Madison - and, by extension, Mason - her children.

Quinn looked away as the brunette started to turn her head in her direction, and nudged Sam. “Hey, have you heard anything about an eighth-grader named Madison?”

“Yeah, Madison McCarthy. She got a role in a senior’s one act. She’s playing Jesse’s kid.”

“You know, that kid just told us all of that, Quinn.”

“Shut up, Finn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave likes and kudos if you so please!! Thanks for reading xx
> 
> Also s/o to Jay for helping me write this chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> cellist quinn lives in my mind rent free
> 
> written for michele and jay
> 
> leave a kudos/comment if you liked it!! Thanks for reading! xx


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